The attic stairs creaked under my weight, dust particles dancing in the shaft of afternoon light that streamed through the single dormer window. I'd been dreading this meeting all day. The attic. Where Liam would be waiting.
The attic had always been my least favorite part of our house, too hot in summer, too cold in winter, and perpetually filled with the musty scent of forgotten things. Now it felt like the perfect place for a conversation neither of us wanted to have but couldn't avoid any longer.
I reached the landing and saw him immediately. Liam sat cross-legged on the worn floorboards, surrounded by photo albums. He looked up at my arrival, his expression unreadable.
We'd managed three days of careful avoidance since our conversation at the boathouse. Three days of orchestrated meal times and deliberate absence. Three days of lying to our parents about why we never seemed to occupy the same room anymore.
The rational part of me knew I should have made an excuse, should never have come.
"What are you looking at?" I asked, finally stepping fully into the attic.
He glanced down at the album in his lap. "Family photos. Found them while I was looking for Dad's old blueprints." He tilted the album toward me. "Dad's forty-fifth birthday."
I recognized the picture immediately. Three years ago, on the back deck, overlooking the lake at sunset. Mom had insisted on a family portrait before Dad blew out his candles. We'd squeezed together, arms around each other, smiling into the camera that Mrs. Abernathy held. A perfect family moment preserved in glossy paper.
Despite my better judgment, I crossed the attic and sank down beside him, careful to leave space between us. Even so, I could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint trace of sawdust that clung to him after a day working with Dad.
"I remember that cake collapsed right after this was taken," I said. "Mom was so upset."
"But Dad laughed." A small smile touched Liam's lips. "Said it was the best disaster he'd ever tasted."
The memory hung between us, a reminder of simpler times. Before whatever this was had crept between us, turning every interaction into a minefield.
He flipped to another page. More family photos—a Christmas morning with Liam and me in matching pajamas, a summer vacation at the beach, a candid shot of the four of us making pizza in the kitchen.
"I don't even look like any of you," he said suddenly, his voice hollow. "Dad's eyes are blue. Mom's are green. Yours are this insane amber color. And I'm just...brown. Everything about me is brown."
I shifted closer, forgetting my earlier caution. "That's not true."
"Look at the evidence, Mia." He gestured at the photo. "The Davidson genes skipped right over me."
"Who cares about genes?" My heart hammered against my ribs. "You're my brother. That's what matters."
His eyes met mine, something dangerous flickering there. "Is it, though?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't make me say it." He closed the album with a snap. "We both know what's happening here."
The attic suddenly felt airless. "Nothing's happening."
"Then why can't you look at me?"
I forced my gaze up, immediately regretting it. The raw emotion on his face made my breath catch.
"Tell me I'm crazy," he whispered. "Tell me you don't feel it too."
My mouth went dry. "You're my brother."
"That's not what I asked."
I stood up too quickly, light-headed. "I have to go."
He caught my wrist, his touch sending electricity up my arm. "Mia."
"Let me go, Liam."
"I can't." His voice broke on the words. "That's the whole problem."
The photo album slid from his lap as he rose to face me. We stood inches apart, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, gentle but unyielding. I could count each of his eyelashes, see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark irises.
"This is wrong," I whispered, but didn't pull away.
"I know." His free hand moved tentatively to my face, thumb brushing a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "God, Mia, don't you think I've tried to stop it? I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even look at you without..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
I don't know which of us moved first. Maybe we both did. One moment we were standing in painful proximity, and the next his lips were on mine.
The world tilted on its axis.
His mouth was soft, tentative at first, then hungry. My hands found their way to his shoulders, his neck, his hair. His arms encircled my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. Everything narrowed to this single point of contact, his heartbeat thundering against mine, the taste of him, the impossible rightness of it all.
This was falling. This was flying. This was everything I'd been trying not to feel for weeks.
Reality crashed back when a car door slammed somewhere outside.
We broke apart, gasping. Horror dawned on his face, mirroring what must have been on mine. What had we done?
I stepped back, my legs hitting a storage box. "I... I have to go."
"Mia, wait..."
But I was already moving, stumbling toward the stairs, desperate to put distance between us. I nearly collided with Mom as she entered the hallway downstairs.
"There you are," she said, then frowned. "Are you okay? You look flushed."
"Fine," I managed. "Just dusty up there."
She studied me for a moment. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Headache," I lied. "I'm going to lie down."
I escaped to my room, closing the door and sliding down against it until I hit the floor. My lips still burned from his kiss. My heart still raced. And underneath the shock and shame, a terrible exhilaration hummed through my veins.
What kind of person was I? What kind of sister kissed her brother and wanted more?
I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. This couldn't happen again. We would pretend it never happened. We would go back to avoiding each other. We would bury this moment so deep it could never resurface.
A soft knock at my door made me jump.
"Mia." Liam's voice was barely audible through the wood. "We need to talk about what just happened."
"No, we don't," I whispered back, not moving from my position against the door. "Because nothing happened."
"Mia..."
"Please, Liam." My voice cracked. "Just go."
Silence stretched between us, the door a flimsy barrier that did nothing to diminish my awareness of him standing inches away.
Finally, I heard him sigh. "This doesn't just disappear because we want it to."
"It has to," I insisted, more to myself than to him.
His footsteps retreated down the hall. Only when I heard his bedroom door close did I let the tears come, silent and burning.
I crawled into bed fully clothed, pulling the covers over my head as if I could hide from what we'd done. But every time I closed my eyes, I felt his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, the solid warmth of his chest against mine.
Sleep eluded me. Instead, I stared at the ceiling where the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd helped me arrange years ago still faintly shone. Cassiopeia. Orion. The Big Dipper. Childhood constellations watching over the wreckage of what we'd just broken.
Somehow, we would have to find our way back to being just siblings. We would have to forget the electricity between us. We would have to pretend we'd never crossed that line.
But as night fell and the house grew quiet, one thought kept circling in my mind: how do you un-know something once you've discovered it? How do you pretend you don't feel what you so clearly do?
I didn't have answers. I only knew that when morning came, I'd have to look him in the eye across the breakfast table and act like my entire world hadn't just shifted on its foundation.
For the sake of our family. For the sake of everything we stood to lose.
Even if it felt like I was already losing the most important part of myself in the process.